Guardian Angel
by chocolatecheesecakes
Summary: Wolf, the nameless woman, is the haunt of the wood. The townsfolk believe it is a ghost… But in fact it is a Werewolf. But when Wolf is given a chance by one man, a chance to turn her life around, then everything begins to change. Her life, her thoughts, her demeanour. And it all begins with a badly written job advert. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey.**

**This was written for Transfiguration in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My task was to write about a Werewolf, and what happens when they turn back into a Wizard/Witch.**

**I used the prompts 'blood', 'walk while ye have light, lest darkness come upon you', 'sawdust' and 'bare-skinned'.**

**If anyone would like me to continue, I will happily oblige. Enjoy!**

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><p>"Walk while ye have light, lest darkness come upon you." - Unknown<p>

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><p><span>Chapter 1: Guardian Angel<span>

When the full moon was out, I was a runner. I was a climber, I was a jumper. I howled at the faintest sight of any humans or civilised animals, I couldn't feel any of my pain, my anger, my disgust…

Was it wrong, that sometimes, I didn't want to wake up? That sometimes, it all felt like a dream in which I was flying, never falling, and that I could never feel the pain of knowing the anger and anguish I went through before and after each transformation? A stupidly wondrous dream.

Reality was waking up to find fur in your teeth, maybe a scrap of raw meat in your mouth. I had often emptied my stomach on patches of grass after finding such things, which did nothing to satisfy my hunger. Once a werewolf, always a werewolf. The wolf part of me was always there, under the surface. And it stung me like a wasp.

When I awoke, the sky was bright blue under my gaze. I whined slightly, and turned over to banish the sight from my view. It was _too _blue, _too _bright, _too _vibrant, _too _everything. My face landed in a pile of slightly rotten leaves, and I cowered away from the smell.

I sat up, feeling the taste of blood in my mouth, and idly picked at what was left with a long fingernail. It wasn't too bad this morning – this morning after. There was no need to vomit.

I often wondered what it would be like, to be loved, and to love in return. Unfortunately, as you may guess, walking down Diagon Alley with a scarred face and heavy eyes doesn't do much for my love life. I'll just die alone. Watch my sister have kids, watch those kids cry in fear like my family did when they find out what happened to the girl in the photo album from so long ago.

Sorry, I am a dreadful pessimist. But when all you have to look forward to is hell on Earth, you tend to stick to your guns. So, then I rose from the rotten, pungent leaves, dropping my hand from my mouth, bare-skinned, and made for the tree hollow where I always hid my extra robes.

You see, routine is natural for me nowadays, especially as I've been a Werewolf since I was ten. When the full moon rises, and I feel the wolf within me begin to howl, I apparate to the wood on the hill (no Muggles go there, not lest because some say it is haunted), and I hide my spare robes in the oak tree closest to the red mark I once made with some unfortunate rabbit's blood. Then my wolf takes me over, and I know nothing until I wake, hours later, sometimes miles from where I began.

I pulled the smooth fabric over my head, feeling where my fingers brushed the hair on my head, still plastered to my head in sheets, feeling blood where I ripped and cut myself, and feeling numbness where the cold has driven me to shivers.

The wind was less noticeable now I was clothed, and that made my tense mind relax. When I looked down, I couldn't see pale, scarred, bare skin. And that soothed me. My feet were still bare, but they were calloused enough for me to walk to the edge of the wood, and disapparate. I hated not knowing where I was, and even hunger after a transformation did nothing to help my need for knowledge.

As I walked, I wrapped my thin but muscly arms around my torso, as slight extra protection against the wind, and sighed deeply. I would be lying to say that my bones didn't ache, and that I longed for simplicity and the dream of flying and laughing and running again. But my wolf wouldn't allow that, and it howled and taunted me as I walked, trying to get my weary bones to a vision of semblance and calm. Sleep.

Now that my real, human mind was back in full gear, I could appreciate beauty again. My skin was perfect, any girl would want it, if it weren't marred, and it was. And the sky that had seemed to hurt my eyes and my ears when my wolf first gave me back control, it now seemed cobalt-blue and pigmented in the most intricate of ways.

I raised one of my arms to the sky, and tried to trace a swirl in the pattern. That made me smile, which made me laugh, which made me relax once more.

There was something about a laugh that made the world seem rainbow-coloured. Even then, I could remember my sister's laughs of childhood. My father's when he picked me up and swung me around. My mother's when she cooked the breakfast porridge.

I stopped thinking about them, fast.

The sun seemed to shine though the bare branches of winter in a way that words couldn't compare to. My wolf seemed to like the sun too; he stopped his howling and screeching for the meanwhile. I had ready plenty of books that examined a Werewolf's link with his Human, and none of them were accurate. My wolf was my soul mate, my twin, my curse and my blessing. I hated him, but yet he was the tether to the OtherWorld.

We co-existed. I was grateful for that. I plodded through life, he ran through forests. We were each other's polar opposite.

"Here that Moony?" I tensed again, my hands flying up to my face. I backed against the nearest tree. I didn't care who 'Moony' was; I didn't want the townsfolk gossiping about me any more than they already did.

_Slut._

_ Harlot._

_ Scarlet-woman._

"I know." Another voice said, and I tried to blend into the oak tree I was pushed up against. My hair was plastered to my scalp, I was wearing nothing but a torn Wizard's robe, and I looked like I had been starved for weeks. "Hello?"

I clapped a hand to my mouth, covering any trace of my breathing. When you are joined to a wolf, they give you gifts, of sorts. The one all of us get is enhanced hearing, and that made my breathing sound like drumbeats. There was a cracking of twigs, a few steps (they were male, although one of them walked lightly and the other dragged his feet), and I could hear them both breathing, just behind me.

"There's definitely someone here Prongs." The unknown second man said, his voice wary. "Hello?"

Should I step around the tree? I had a mental war with myself, the final outcome only decided when I looked down at my bare feet and ripped robe, the scars on my pale arms, and accidently sighed.

"A woman." Second said, which piqued my interest. "Hello? Come out, we're not going to hurt you."

"Moony, it's just been a Full Moon." First said, which made me shift my stance. Another Werewolf? With what sounded like…

A friend? For all of my life, everyone that knew my secret, my curse, had been too scared to come near, and that prejudice had extended to my adulthood. My breath caught in my throat, and I second-guessed myself for the very first time.

If I stepped out… Then that would be me willingly exposing myself for who I am. But if I stayed, close to the tree, then I would still be camouflaged. Like a chameleon – those lizards that I used to see in the Muggle zoos that my father would take my sister and I to.

I always liked the lions best, with their powerful roars, and the koalas with their droopy eyes. They seemed to my eight year-old mind, like two flipsides of the same coin. When I voiced this to my father and sister, they just laughed. Too eloquent for an eight year-old to be taken seriously.

Had I truly ever been taken seriously? If I could have, I would have scoffed. Of course not. I was turned too early for that. With that thought, emblazoned brightly in one of the furthest reaches of my mind, subduing the wolf howling for blood, I looked down at my pale, scarred skin, my bare feet, and the robe covering my nakedness, and I stepped out.

I must have looked a frightful sight. But I was too entranced by the two people that were the first to approach me in years to care. My eyes looked first at the boy on the right, who had messy black hair, circular glasses and a slouched position, his hands in his pockets and an amazed look on his face. I watched him, as he looked me up on me, noting how his eyes lingered on my scars and my eyes. Maybe he could see my wolf. I sometimes could, when I looked in the mirror at home and saw him howling in my mind. And I tried to not let my gaze waver, using my wolf as protection, erecting my brick walls and my barriers instinctively. _He_ was not the other Werewolf. _He _was clean.

And so, once the right hand boy had stopped to stare once more, his gaze still, I turned my curious attention to the other. My breath faltered again, as I saw _his _wolf behind his eyes. He looked exhausted, like I must be, but he almost had the same disposition as I. His wolf yelled and howled at mine, and I could hear mine calling back, just as loud. The Werewolf was standing up straight, and looked looked-after. He had shoes on, for one thing, and his skin was not pale, as mine was.

His scars looked properly treated, whereas I did what I could do with spells and Muggle remedies. Some of them were so faint, even my wolf's eyes could barely see them. His eyes were somewhat bright, a dark green colour that I logged in my mind. The colour of glass bottles. "Um… hello." He said anxiously, and I flinched at his tone.

He looked so _kind_.

"I didn't know anyone else used these woods." The Werewolf said, no anxiety left in his tone now that he knew that I wouldn't bite. "In fact-" His face darkened, and took on a degree of confusion. "My parents said no other magical people lived in the village."

I blinked, and opened my mouth experimentally. I was unused to speaking so soon after sunrise. I tended to rest my vocal chords until I had to use them. But, I supposed, I owed these boys the courtesy of at least hearing my voice.

"They're wrong." I began, wincing at the grating sound that was my voice. My throat physically ached at the exaltation, but I pressed on before the strength left me. "You wouldn't know me."

"Did you go to Hogwarts?" The first boy, the clean one, asked me, and my gaze snapped to him. "Uh, sorry, did I offend you?"

The Werewolf laid a careful hand on his arm. "_Transformation side affect._" He said quietly. "_I can control it. Some… aren't so lucky._"

"No." I said, my voice now laced with a touch of malice. "But I got the letter, when I was eleven."

I didn't offer explanation more than that, but neither of them seemed satisfied. "Can you at least tell us your name, your age?" The Werewolf asked, somewhat helplessly. "Please, I've never met…"

"Another Werewolf?" I scratched a laugh out of my parched throat. "I have. You don't want to."

"Your name?" The clean one asked me quickly. "Whoever you are."

"I don't have a name." I lied, closing my eyes slowly, and then opening them again, just as gradually. "Call me Wolf. I'm twenty-one. You won't see me again."

When I turned to leave, I was stopped. The Whistle. I snapped around again, staring straight at the Werewolf, whilst the clean one looked puzzled. "I'm Remus Lupin." The Werewolf said to me, holding his calloused, scarred hand out to me. "This is James Potter. We're both fifteen."

I stepped forward, applying caution to my every move. Then, when I was close enough to sniff the pair of them, I took Remus's hand almost abruptly. "Good to meet you." I said curtly. "Be grateful it wasn't any other Werewolf you met tonight. Don't hunt here again."

"Why? It seems perfectly safe." The idiot – James – asked, his tone cocky. "You're this woods' 'guardian angel' or something? You're full of shit and sawdust, you know that?"

Before he could scoff again, or move towards or away from me, my hand was closing around his throat. "Listen here." I hissed, letting my wolf shine through, leaving a little of my human spirit behind in the dust. "I know more than you will ever do James Potter, and trust me, you don't want to meet the others who haunt this forest."

"Others?" Remus cut in, his tone panicked. I let my hand fly down from James Potter's neck, and he staggered backward, gasping for air. "You mean, there are others?"

I barked another grating laugh. "Haven't been here lately, have you?" I said, with no humour in my tone. "Don't worry about it Remus, just stay away from these woods."

"At least come back home with us." Remus tried, in vain. "My mother and father will surely understand."

I froze. He… his mother and father hadn't abandoned him? He was still their son, their little boy? The shock and confusion must have shown on my face, as Remus's expression darkened. "And no, they're not prejudiced." He insisted.

"I can't." I explained suddenly, whirling around from them robotically. My sweaty hair still clung to my forehead, leaving trickles of sweat down my face. "I'm not someone you want anywhere near you."

I walked away, my bare feet getting ripped and torn by the twigs and rotten leaves on the ground. I no longer felt the need to know the truth anymore, so when I looked back, and could not see the faces of the two boys, I disapparated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to The souless ones and Gurl5678!**

Chapter 2: The Unexpected Job

Everything seemed especially quiet as I walked down that Muggle street. No birds sang, or whistled, nor made any semblance of a single noise. The wind was my only company, howling like the wolf inside of me, except on my exterior.

I had taken a coat off a lamppost (I had no idea who it belonged to, and to be honest I didn't really care all that much), and despite its thin, slightly lucid qualities, it did the job it was supposed to do rather well, all things considered. And so, I had nothing to complain about yet.

Luckily, no one was out at this time, or my appearance would have become subject to many scornful words and a few shocked glances. I scoffed - as much as I could do without the words behind my back, they kept my true nature well below the radar. I doubted that Mr Lupin from earlier that morning had much luck in that department.  
>Something was... Off about that entire exchange. Of course, it might just be my extra sense for trouble or just my bullshit radar, but I knew myself well, and for that reason, I always took my worries, everything, seriously. And so, as I trudged down the street, I left my mind to whirl around the corners of my thoughts and pondering.<p>

That James Potter... He looked very familiar to me, and not just in the façade sense. I had seen him before, however briefly, and now that sense of déjà vu was coming back to haunt me a little. They (they referring to Remus Lupin and James Potter in this instance) looked to be around school age, and judging by James's lack of wolf bond and blood, they had met at school?

Which was impossible.

Throughout my life, all I had been told was 'Werewolves can't attend Hogwarts'. In fact, I distinctly remembered Matron Coffelia telling me so, the day I turned eleven. Dumbledore was a kind man, she had said, but he was unwilling to place his other students in danger by having a Werewolf at Hogwarts. And, as it seemed, I could not go to Muggle school either, as that would 'just be irresponsible'.

Despite my rudimentary knowledge of Mathematics, Literature (I was a great fan of Dickens, although I felt Austen was painfully boring) and Language, I knew nothing, and as a result I could not get a job in either the Muggle or Wizarding Worlds.

However, I did what I had to to feed myself. I let my Wolf eat rabbits, hares, badgers, squirrels and the like during each transformation, I took jobs where no one asked me for my qualifications - the best example being a newspaper round I had until I moved - and occasionally I would sell something valuable that I stole from my family before they threw me out.

I laughed to myself dryly, taking a sharp left turn down 'Robin Meadow', the street two away from my own. I said 'threw me out' in the loosest of senses. They dropped me in front of 'Matron Coffelia's Orphanage For Wizards And Witches', then walked away into the night.

I never saw them again, and I was glad. When I was thirteen, and lying on my bed recollecting what one boy had said to me, I decided that when I met my father, he would be dead before he could say my old name.

Oh, yes. I forgot to mention that. When the 'others' found out about my Wolf, they were terrified of me. No one would talk to the 'Werewolf girl', in case they'd get eaten. Some did, of course, but they were the ones who weren't afraid to beat me up.

Behind my back, they dropped 'Werewolf girl' and simply began to call me 'Wolf'. I liked the name, so I dropped my old name and took Wolf as my new one. Matron Coffelia hated it, but she could do nothing. I was fourteen by then and more than sting enough to punch or kick anyone that got in my way.

When the front door of my house came into view, I fumbled for the door key in my coat pocket, only relaxing when I felt the iron between my fingers. An old key, for a new house.

"Good morning."

I looked up, to see the old man who lived next to me giving me a toothy grin. The poor old sod had some kind of Muggle disease, and was looked after by his daughter, who hated me more than she hated living with her senile father. The old man could never remember the rumours and stories about me, and so he never listened to them. He was the closest person to a friend that I had, and I didn't even know his name.

"Good morning." I responded in kind, slipping the key in the hole, twisting it twice before fumbling with the latch. I needed to get in, my feet hurt more badly than normal and my apparition was too risky to do in a Muggle village in broad daylight, as tempting as it was.  
>"I'll see ya round, lass." The old man nodded at me, before disappearing back inside. I listened for a moment, and heard the sharp barks of his daughter. I chuckled to myself, yanking open the door with a sharp tug and walking in, sighing when my bare feet hit the cool carpet.<p>

I didn't walk far, as my blood was seeping into the floor, and instead sat down on one of the cheap armchairs I had. I summoned the medical kit from the bathroom, and set to work with my cuts and tears, and the fleshy mess that was my feet. I had learnt from enough of the old Charms books that the others left behind then they went to school to get by, and in fact I had stolen many of the oldest, most disused ones in storage before I left/got kicked out.

I had been living alone for 3 years now, since my eighteenth birthday, and couldn't dream of any other lifestyle. It was tedious, all the cooking and cleaning and the forged documents I sent off as completed bills, but it was a damn sight better than living with 50 or 60 other children, who all hated me by definition.

Placing my 13 inches, cherry and phoenix feather wand to one side, I sat back and sighed tiredly. It would be so easy to just sleep, here in this armchair, but to me rest after a full moon was a luxury and not something to take for granted. I know other Werwolves saw it as given, but I knew that to see that anything as given would be dying, in my opinion.  
>As I would much rather die than accept any more help.<p>

So I picked up The Daily Prophet, leafing through it until I reached the job advertisements section, and only then opening it out fully.

There were a few open spaces as maids, but the last time I went for that the boss turned out to be a creep and the head housemaid was a bitch, so my eyes flew past that. A job as a general gardener, however, caught me out, so I wrote that down, after summoning a quill and sheet of fresh parchment.

I went through the entire section, and only had three written down. All the rest were out of my reach (not enough qualifications) or just not viable (like the maid), and I was left with a gardener, a secretary or a coffee girl.

I sighed, and decided to comb it through just the once more. On the bottom of the second page, there was a small, but readable advertisement, in terrible handwriting and appalling grammar and spelling.

_Job opun as a writting Xminer/grammur chckurPlz appy at 45 Diagun Aly Lundun Englund._

I stared at this for a second, trying to make sense of what it was attempting to tell me, before grabbing my quill and scribbling down the address, scratching out the first three ideas in favour of the new. Anyone that bad at spelling and grammar was probably desperate enough to have a Werewolf working for them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey! Sorry this has not been updated since October, but... I got around to it!**

**I would love some reviews. If you're reading, maybe just a word? A sentence? A phrase?**

**And enjoy.**

Chapter 3: Wolf At The Door

I was born sometime in October, in the year of 1954, to two ordinary magical people. To this day, I still remember my mother singing me calm rhymes in the early hours of each morning, my father telling me stories of Hogwarts.

However, I forgot their faces within days of being given up.

The circumstances that surrounded my transformation were cloudy, at the very least. No one can remember being bitten in full colour, but I can't even recall why I was in the woods.

If I was a perfect child, then I would have been out picking berries, or climbing trees. The most likely scenario is that I got bored of sleeping (which is a pastime for those that have nothing else to do) and walked out, in my pyjamas, only to be mown down by a Werewolf.

My years at the Orphanage (although my parents were alive and well) were the ones that I could remember, day by shining day. Matron Coffelia used to take me out to the woods on the hill above the Orphanage every full moon, but leave me to return on my own.

At eighteen, the little hospitality I had received there was snatched away, and I was given one hundred Galleons, my few possessions, and booted out on my arse.

One hundred Galleons seemed like a fortune to me at eighteen.

But it went on the house that provided my shelter, and the apparition lessons I took from a grubby little man in Knockturn Alley one Saturday morning. He took what was left over from the sum as well, when I wasn't looking. Then he disappeared before I could hook my hands around his grubby, stumpy neck.

I got my food by stealing. I had been brought up to know that stealing was wrong, it was a sin, but God was a load of bullshit if I was twenty-one, uneducated and unemployed. And stealing was what kept me alive.

The name I was given at the Orphanage - Dorothy - did not suit me at all. So I looked to the Wolf under my skin, and used him to save me. To name me.

Wolf.

Names were fleeting objects. The one given to me by my parents was stolen when I was given up to the Orphanage, and the one Matron Nexus gifted to me (she had just watched The Wizard of Oz) was neither wanted or received well.

I tried to scratch her eyes out.

I dressed in my best clothes - my skirt, patched jacket, dirty shirt - and forged the documents that I needed.

Oh, yes. The grubby little man gifted something else. He must have felt sorry for me (or not, as he stole my wallet).

"_This 'ere." He said. "Just write whatever, this makes it look legit."_

All I needed for the badly spelt job prospect was confirmation that I went to Hogwarts. I used Slytherin as my House, as I always did, put my grades as all Es.

Then I folded it up messily and slipped it into my jacket pocket. My feet still ached from the morning's walk, and my Wolf growled within me, appreciating my discomfort.

My wand was picked up. It wasn't my wand, if folklore was to be believed. I picked it up off a dead man. He had no need for it. I did.

I rested my vocal chords by apparating directly to the place I was directed to. 45 Diagon Alley.

The bottom floor was completely void of any furniture, covered in a thick layer of dust and musty to the smell. It looked like no one had set foot in the place for years.

Typical. I turned around, ready to open the door and enter the main alley, when there was a creak from behind me.

I spun.

"What are you doing here?" I heard a voice say, and I crept forward, looking around for the perpetrator.

I said nothing, however. It might not even be a person. It could be my Wolf, toying with me like he did so much.

Just as my heart started to sink, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

"What are you doing here?" He asked again, this time more forcefully.

I didn't answer. The man was too interesting. He was much older than the two boys of the morning, taller, freckled, with red hair and a big nose.

He was scowling half-heartedly, like he didn't like to but was forced to in this context. He looked like the kind of guy with a loving family that put stews in his fridge when he wasn't looking, and had siblings that he adored.

"I said, _what are you doing here?_"

"I came for the job." I answered shortly, my vocal chords still trembling with the attempt. "In the _Prophet_."

The man's eyes widened in surprise, and I could feel him looking me over. Then he shrugged. "Got your papers love?"

"I am not your _love_." I spat, taking some kind of sadistic pleasure in the way he looked taken aback, maybe even slightly hurt. But I still passed him the documents.

He flicked through them disinterestedly, pausing only at the one that declared my school, age, name and date of birth. He looked up quizzically.

"What kind of a name is Wolf?" He queried. "And why did you just put October, 1954 as your date of birth?"

I shrugged as an explanation. The man definitely wanted more, but after minutes of silence he gave up.

"You must have been at Hogwarts with me then." He continued cheerily. "Though in... Slytherin?"

"That's where I was put." I said simply, with another shrug.

"You don't seem like a Snake." The man grinned, shaking his head as he threw the papers to one side and holding out his hand. "As long as you can spell, you've got the job, Miss Wolf."

"Just Wolf. " I corrected quickly, eying his outstretched hand warily.

"I'm Fabian Prewett." The man smirked. "Are you going to shake my hand or not. We can hi-five if you want."

I shuddered, and quickly took Fabian's hand, before I could decide otherwise. His hand was strong and calloused, but warm, and he nearly pulled my arm off when he shook it.

"I'm a Werewolf." I said, after he had dropped it. "That's what they don't say on the forms."

Fabian quirked an eyebrow, leaving me in a state of shock. "You're too pretty to be a Werewolf." He teased, and my eyes widened to twice their usual size. "Joking... It's pretty obvious actually."

"How?" I asked defensively. "How?"

"Just by the way you walk." Fabian grinned. "I worked out that there was a Werewolf about five years below us, back in Hogwarts."

"You're not going to find someone else then?" I blinked rapidly at the man in front of me, who was now laughing. "What? What's so funny?"

"You're a riot!" Fabian chuckled. "It's going to be fun having you around the place."

In my entire life, I had never been thought of as 'pretty' or 'a riot'. I just stood and stared as Fabian Prewett walked up the stairs at the back of the room.

"Come on!" He yelled back. "Are you coming or what?"


End file.
